


Deep breaths, Marius. Deep breaths.

by I_trip_over_air



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_trip_over_air/pseuds/I_trip_over_air
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU: An exasperated Courfeyrac attempts to help Marius ask Cosette on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep breaths, Marius. Deep breaths.

Marius was pining.  
This was not something Courfeyrac was particularly enthusiastic about. A love-sick Marius had initially seemed like Christmas come early – the opportunities for teasing were too good to miss. But as the weeks stretched on, Courfeyrac found that Marius’ continual inability to concentrate, his habit of gazing off into the distance dreamily and his sudden desire for 3-in-the-morning Taylor Swift concerts in his room was becoming a little wearing. Jehan thought it was romantic. Grantaire, who never seemed to sleep anyway except when passed out drunk, thought it was hilarious. Combeferre was philosophical about it. Enjolras had gained a slightly murderous look in his eyes, and had taken to sharpening knives whenever Marius was around.

One morning at breakfast, in an effort to get him out of the house, Courfeyrac casually let it slip into the conversation that he had often seen a blonde girl hanging around the Cafe Bal de Sceaux, accompanied by a gruff-looking old man. “Weird-looking pair,” he said with his mouth full.  
“Did she have eyes the colour of the ocean?” Marius had dropped his spoon in his cereal, spattering milk down the front of his un-ironed shirt.  
“...They were blue, I think, yeah.”  
“That’s her!” Marius’ eyes lit up. There was a pause. “Hey, anyone up for a coffee this afternoon?”  
“I have a thing.” said Feuilly.  
Combeferre coughed and muttered something about a moth exhibition.  
Courfeyrac grinned. “Enjy, you need out of the house too,” he said, punching his friend on the arm and receiving a glare in return.   
“I have things to read.”  
“You always have things to read. And the only time you’ve been out of the house this week is to chair the Howard League meetings, argue with that guy at Amnesty international, and to try and get people to sign your Anti-Nestle petition.”  
“So I have been out.”  
“You need a break. You don’t actually have a choice here, sorry.”  
“I’ll come,” offered Grantaire.  
Enjolras glowered.

That afternoon, the sky was clear, the air crisp. Marius (who had changed into a spotless, freshly ironed shirt), Courfeyrac, Grantaire and Enjolras sat at a table in the corner of the cafe, each looking, at some level, ill at ease.  
“They don’t do beer here, do they?” Grantaire said, spinning his can of coke in his hands and tapping his foot.  
“It’s three in the afternoon, R.” Marius was glancing around the cafe anxiously, tapping his fingers on the table obsessively.  
Courfeyrac, for once relatively still, was staring at Enjolras, wide-eyed horror on his face. “Oh my God, Enjy, who brings books to a Cafe about -” he squinted, “– the history of the Parisian sewer system up until the mid-19th century?”  
“It’s actually very interesting,” said Enjolras, who had not touched his drink.  
“Are you even human?”  
“Evidence suggests so.”  
“Dear Lord.”  
Suddenly, Marius stiffened. “Look,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and shaky.  
They looked. Sure enough, a petite blonde girl, of about 18, had walked through the door. The tall, rather plain looking man who accompanied her was glancing around the cafe with an almost anxious expression.  
“Deep breaths, Marius,” said Grantaire.  
“asdklaj,” said Marius.  
“That’s the spirit.” Courfeyrac slapped him on the back. “Go talk to her!”  
Marius didn’t move. “Her father,” he muttered.  
“What’s the worst he can do?”  
“I don’t know,” Grantaire said. “He looks pretty shifty.”  
“Be quiet and drink your coke.” Courfeyrac shoved away his chair, pulling Marius up with him. Turning him in the direction of the counter, he gave Marius a push. “Go. Speak words. Be happy. Stop moping. Make less with the Taylor Swift.”  
Courfeyrac watched Marius wobble forward with a vaguely motherly expression on his face, and sat back down.  
“£10 says he trips over a chair,” Grantaire said.  
Courfeyrac snorted. “Give him some credit.”  
Together they eyed their friend’s progress. Enjolras had not lifted his head from his book.

Marius arrived at the counter trembling, his eyes fixed on the gorgeous, the goddess-like blonde in front of him. Cosette. The name was like sunshine. Maybe he could write a poem for her. Or get Jehan to, at least.  
Cosette spotted Marius, and smiled. Like an angel, like a heavenly- He coughed. “Hi, Cosette.”  
“How’re you doing, Marius? Did you hand that essay in on time?”  
“Oh, uhh, yeah, yes I did.”   
Dammit. He’d forgotten all about that essay.  
Marius placed his shaking hands in his pockets. Look nonchalant, that’s the key.  
“Hey, Cosette. I was wondering if maybe you’d like-”  
Cosette’s warm eyes brightened. “Yes?”  
“Uh if you’d want to, with me, umm go to umm, well on aah uhh-”  
Marius drew to a stuttering stop, as he noticed the tall old man behind Cosette whiz round and glare at him.  
“Time to go, Cosette,” he said. His voice was a low growl.   
Cosette’s face fell. “Really?”  
“Yes. We were going to check in to see Fauchelevent’s girls, remember?”  
“Oh yes. Nicola’s still sick.”  
Cosette made a motion to touch Marius’ arm, but withdrew her hand. She smiled. “Later, Marius.”  
As they exited, the old man turned to Marius, who shivered. Was he imagining it, or was that hate in the silver-haired man’s eyes?

Courfeyrac helped him into his seat. “Phew. That old guy’s pretty scary.”  
“Mmmpfheaoujsdfl.” said Marius.  
“An elegant rebuttal. Come on, I’ll buy you a hot chocolate.”  
“I think I’m just going to walk home, thanks.”  
As if in a dream, Marius rose, smiling vaguely at his friends, and started to wander towards the door.  
Courfeyrac watched him go, and groaned. “I think we just made it worse. When he starts listening to Adele at midnight we may have to get him to a specialist.”  
A pause, and then from the door, they heard a crash.  
“You owe me £10,” said Grantaire.


End file.
